Midnight
by gottafeverof103
Summary: Two weeks after the sacrifice, a distraught Elena sneaks into the Salvatore's boarding house in search of alcohol. She encounters Damon. How will the night turn out? One shot, takes place at the end of season two, alternate storyline, Damon was never bitten by Tyler.


_There is no easy way to deal with the loss of a loved one. Some argue that if you had a chance to say goodbye, to clear up any bad blood or at least let them know how much you cared, letting them go would be an easier process. But the pain of the heart is no easy matter. The worst part of losing someone is not the moment they pass on, but rather the moments that come afterwards in which you realize you need them more than ever. The emptiness you feel inside, the holes in your life and heart where that person used to be, never fully heal or close. They simply become less raw with time. But when the wounds are fresh – sensitive and unstable – sometimes you need another person to hold onto until you're able to stand on your own two feet again. Someone who can be there in the beginning, the middle, and the end, in case the wounds ever decide to reopen. Someone who understands._

….

**Elena POV**

Elena dug her fingers into the soft, wet grass and took a deep breath. She was sitting cross-legged and slightly hunched over on the ground next to Jenna's grave, the midnight wind gently brushing her bare shoulders.

It had been two weeks since Jenna and John's burial, and everyone was worried about Elena's state of mind. Caroline and Bonnie had basically been on suicide watch, having 'girls night' _every night_ and trying to keep her mind off any negative thoughts. Jeremy had confided in Alaric, who merely sat with him and gave an occasional squeeze on the shoulder, letting their sorrows mingle together – but it was exactly what each of them needed.

Stefan had left town several days after the burial, fixed on tracking down Klaus and his deal-breaking brother, Elijah. It was the younger Salvatore's way of trying to make up for Elena's loss, but everyone knew his quest was impossible and that he only left because he didn't know what else to do. He had been there for Elena, by her side at all times, but he could tell she was suffocating under all of their watchful eyes. Losing so many loved ones had taken its toll on her, and Stefan could see her changing with every flower she laid on a grave, every fake smile she wore in public, every tear she refused to shed. The pain was too great this time, and he could see her drawing further into herself instead of going to him for solace and comfort. So he set out to do the only thing he thought would fix her – find Klaus and finish what they had started.

Elena's breathing was steady as she stared at the headstone – a crisp, thick wedge of granite that shone painfully bright in the pale moonlight. _What a lovely new addition_, she thought bitterly.

The sound of laughter suddenly pierced through the silence, directing her attention toward the clearing on her right. Through the trees, a small group of obviously intoxicated girls stumbled down the road. Elena had forgotten it was a Saturday night, when most girls her age were out with friends, partying or hanging out at The Grille. That life seemed so far away from her in that moment, so elusive and out of reach.

But the drunk girls only irked Elena. She envied them. She hated them. She wanted to yell and curse at them for laughing and smiling so carelessly, around her beloved aunt's freshly dug grave.

But the anger was fleeting, it drained out of her just like all the other emotions had.

She took another deep breath and stood up, brushing off her long, grass-covered legs and straightening her clothes. Since she had recently escaped from a sleepover at Bonnie's house, she was clad in her pajamas – a loose fitting tank top and some comfy plaid shorts.

She wrapped her arms around her body and shivered, goose bumps rising on the surface of her olive skin. She exited the graveyard through its thin metal gate and untied her ponytail, giving her shoulders a little warmth as her dark hair cascaded around her neck.

With her thin sandals padding softly on the sidewalk, she turned down the road on her left, towards the Salvatore's boarding house, with only one thought in mind:

_I really need drink._

….

**Damon POV**

Damon tapped his foot impatiently. He kept shifting in his armchair and swishing the bourbon around in his glass, glaring at inanimate objects in his room. _That's such an ugly lamp_, he thought bitterly, staring judgmentally at the small light source beside him. It had been hours since he last saw Elena, when Caroline claimed her for a 'girls night' and whisked her away to Bonnie's house.

Elena had looked miserable.

She had tried to cover it up, attempting to hide behind a pathetically fake smile as she always did in times of tragedy. But Damon saw right through her.

He got up and started pacing around his room. The boarding house was empty; Stefan was gone, on his futile quest to find and kill Klaus. Didn't his little brother realize that if the first vampire/hybrid to ever walk the earth didn't want to be found_, you probably won't be able to find him_? And even if Stefan miraculously stumbled upon the all-powerful original, what was he going to do? Pull his hair? Klaus and Elijah weren't exactly the kind of people you could just waltz in on and take down by yourself.

Damon downed the rest of his bourbon and set the glass on his nightstand with a loud thud. He ran a tense hand through his dark hair. Why was everyone acting like idiots? And since when was he so concerned about someone else's well-being that he couldn't even enjoy a simple glass of bourbon anymore?

_I really need a vacation_, Damon thought to himself. He smiled faintly at the idea of leaving this hellhole of a town behind. Perhaps a couple of years basking in the Italian sun – and some Italian ladies – could make up for all the pain and misery that constantly shrouded the residents of Mystic Falls.

But he couldn't keep up the charade for long, and he started pacing again. He was so wrapped up in deciding whether or not to stalk Bonnie's house that he didn't realize someone else was in the house until he heard a clatter from downstairs.

….

**POV **

"_Shit_," Elena cursed under her breath. She didn't mean to knock over the vase, but she was already starting to feel the warmth of alcohol spread through her face all the way down to her fingertips. The small, brass vase hit the ground like a bullet, cracking down the middle and rolling toward the fireplace.

Elena had just finished her second glass of whiskey and was having a little trouble pouring the third.

"I should do this more often," she mumbled to herself, nodding her head as she fumbled with the glass pitcher. Finally setting it down, she took a sip of her drink and gazed at the fireplace. _Crap_, she realized. _What if Caroline and Bonnie notice I snuck out? _She grimaced at the thought of the impending lecture she would get from Caroline, along with the terribly disapproving look from Bonnie. Elena sighed deeply and took another sip of whiskey.

"Cute PJ's." someone announced behind her.

She instantly recognized the deep voice as Damon's, but still whirled around in surprise – knocking another vase off the table. With her wide-eyed stare and bare, lanky legs, she literally looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

Hot flames crackled in the fireplace. Elena hiccupped. All was still.

"Well don't _you_ look ridiculous." Damon stated, crossing his arms and leaning against a wooden railing. "Oh and you owe me two vases."

Elena didn't exactly respond to his comments. Her gaze wandered from his piercing blue eyes, which looked even richer in the dim fire light, to his strong-set jaw line and stopped at his crossed arms, bulging with muscles even in his relaxed stance. In her tipsy state, Elena was unaware of how obvious her ogling of Damon's appearance was.

A small smile played on Damon's lips as she continued to stare. "Well?" he said, arching an eyebrow. His eyes bore into hers, looking for an explanation.

"I uh *hiccup* thought you were out…" Elena said, feeling slightly uncomfortable under his gaze.

"And I thought you were with Blondie and the witch having a _super duper_ sleepover," Damon countered.

Elena seemed to sober up a little at his words, remembering all the tip-toeing and breath-holding she endured to ditch 'girls night.' It was not easy having a vampire friend with heightened senses when you were trying to be sneaky and strategic.

"I… couldn't sleep," she mumbled, looking off to the side. She took another gulp of whiskey. Damon narrowed his eyes, casting his glance downward.

"Did you lose a wrestling match to the ground or something? Why are your legs covered in dirt?" he demanded. Elena looked down at her knees; they were smudged with dirt from the graveyard. She shrugged slowly and scrunched up her mouth, "I dunno."

Damon rolled his eyes – she was such a terrible liar. He walked up to her and reached for her drink.

"Hey!" she protested, feeling very protective of the alcohol like it was her baby. She yanked the glass backward, spilling some of the brown liquid on her tank top in the process.

Damon let out a groan. "Jesus Elena, just give me the whiskey and sit down, before you break _another_ vase." Elena pursed her lips, mulling it over in her head.

"If I give you the whiskey, then you have to pour me a glass of your best bourbon," she stated. She smiled proudly, as if she had just outsmarted him. Damon sighed.

"That's the opposite of what I'm trying to accomplish here, you imbecile."

"Would you just…!" Elena shouted suddenly, slamming her drink on the table and marching right up to him. Her fists were clenched and her expression was furious, but Damon only found her outburst adorable and raised an eyebrow in response. Their faces were inches apart, and Elena had to strain her neck upward to maintain eye contact. Damon hovered over her with an amused smirk. Locked in a stare down, he took a moment to admire the fact that he was the only one who could get a rise out of her like this.

"How about you calm down before you hurt yourself, oh Feisty One."

Elena grunted in frustration. "Why are _you_ allowed to day drink and have a glass of bourbon glued to your hand twenty-four-seven when I can't even enjoy some whiskey without you raining on my parade?" she demanded, already huffing and puffing. How is it that Damon could make her this angry in less than five minutes?

"You call that a parade? Elena, have you ever been to a parade?"

"That's not the point!" she squeaked out. She spun around and marched back to the table, picking up the pitcher of whiskey. "You know what? I'm just gonna get out of your hair and drink somewhere else."

Elena took about two steps before Damon appeared in front of her.

"You're kidding right? You're like a danger magnet. It would be a miracle if World War Three didn't break out on your way home." His tone was playful, but his expression was serious. Just because Klaus wasn't around doesn't mean she should be walking around alone at midnight.

"Get out of my way, Damon," she protested, trying to find an escape route around him. He walked her towards the table, forcing her to back up. She set down the glass pitcher and pushed against his chest, but he latched his hands onto the table behind her, his arms creating a cage around her body.

"You're not leaving this house, Elena," he said, his voice low and his tone unnegotiable. She could feel his breath on her skin, the smell of bourbon and musk making her dizzy. She was losing this battle and running out of ideas. In a last attempt at rebellion, she picked up her glass and dumped the rest of the whiskey on his black shirt.

Damon's expression faltered. "Did you just…?" He shook his head and took a deep breath, leaning back but still trapping her against the table. "You know what? Fine. I'll pour you a damn glass of bourbon. But I swear to god if you break any more vases or spill any more of my alcohol, I'll lock you in the basement cellar. Naked."

They looked at each other, the lights of the fireplace playing with the shadows on their faces. Suddenly, Elena erupted in laughter – the kind of laughter that was genuine and warm and contagious. Damon hadn't realized how much he had missed that sound; it was so rare in the midst of all this chaos and tragedy. He released his right hand from the table and reached up to tuck a piece of loose hair behind her ear. She was such a paradox – a person who was both young and old. Fragile, yet unbelievably strong. Damon marveled at the sight before him.

Elena's laughter faded into silence. Damon's hand lingered near her hair, his fingertips brushing the side of her neck. She looked at him with that damn soul-penetrating gaze and smiled warmly, silently thanking him for being able to make her laugh and feel like herself again. Elena and Damon had a lot more in common than they let on, and they both knew it deep down. They brought out the best in each other, even in the most difficult of times. And even though she didn't want to admit it, Elena knew she was more like Damon as every day went by.

Damon dropped his hand to his side and then took a few steps back, crossing his arms over his chest again. Elena held up her now empty glass and tilted it in his direction. "So how about that drink?"

Damon smirked. "Well then, I'll go get the bourbon." He started to turn around but then looked down at the twin whiskey stains on their clothes. "And a couple of shirts."


End file.
